


Trains and Polyamory

by electroniccollectiondonut



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Family, Gen, Post-Canon, Reunions, despite what the tiltle may suggest this is actually a serious fic that will make you feel things
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-11 23:26:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29750610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/electroniccollectiondonut/pseuds/electroniccollectiondonut
Summary: Feanaro is finally reembodied after seven thousand years, and Celebrian volunteers to introduce him to the Valinor of the Fifth Age. Turns out elves have invented some things while he's been gone.
Relationships: Celebrían & Fëanor | Curufinwë
Comments: 10
Kudos: 23





	Trains and Polyamory

The world bursts from the muted greys of the Halls of Mandos into the full, glorious color of Valinor in a matter of seconds. It’s overwhelming, and Feanaro covers his eyes with his hands to block out some of the brightness. He is surprised that after reembodying so many other people, Namo has yet to find a way to make it less painful. Or perhaps he has, and simply chose to deprive Feanaro of it.

“Could you uncover your eyes please?” says a voice he doesn’t recognise. It’s a female voice, soft and quiet in a way that sounds like it’s natural, not whispering. “Just for a moment? I have something to block out some of the light.”

That sounds good. Feanaro moves his hands and the woman puts something on his face. It feels strange, and his brow furrows in confusion.

“You can open your eyes now,” she says. He does, and the world has become dimmer now, more tolerable for eyes used to the endless grey of Mandos. He touches his face, trying to figure out what exactly she’s done. She smiles. “They’re called sunglasses,” she says. “They’re made of tinted glass. Lomion came up with them, for Avari who are used to living in the dark.”

Lomion. Feanaro files that name away—it may belong to someone important—and then takes a better look at the woman. She has a full figure and a round face, wavy silver hair cropped short to her chin and every bit of exposed skin covered in freckles. She’s wearing a purple dress in a vaguely Telerin style, which makes sense based on her looks, though she speaks Quenya with an accent that’s definitely not Telerin. She also has scars, on her arms and throat and stomach and even one jagged line down the left side of her face from temple to jaw.

She can see him looking, he knows, because she smiles and tilts her head just a little so that he’s looking at her eyes instead of her scar. “I’m Celebrian, the daughter of Artanis, though she goes by Galadriel now,” she tells him.

Artanis is Arafinwe’s youngest, only a few years older than the twins. The last time Feanaro saw her, she still had yet to reach her first century or show any inclination at all toward marrying. For her to have a daughter who is grown, with a marriage bond of her own visible in her eyes…

“How long has it been?” Feanaro asks, unable to keep the shock from his voice. Time may be strange in Mandos, but surely it couldn’t have been  _ too  _ long…

Celebrian hesitates briefly, then places a steadying arm around his shoulders. They are almost of a height; Artanis was ever taller than Feanaro once she grew out of childhood, but her daughter is only taller by an inch or two, seemingly taking more after Earwen. “It’s been a very long time,” she says slowly. Before he can ask how long, exactly, she continues, “nearly seven thousand years.”

Feanaro can see now why she thought to steady him preemptively; he can feel his legs go weak beneath him, his breath coming shorter. “Seven thousand…” his voice trails off into nothing and Celebrian carefully lowers them to the grass. Seven thousand years without his sons, without Nerdanel, and his family has been growing without his even being aware, Celebrian herself is evidence enough of that. How many grandchildren might he have now? How many grand nieces and nephews? How many lives has he missed?

“Don’t worry, we’ll get you introduced to everyone as soon as possible,” Celebrian says, as though she’s read his mind. Given who her mother is, she very well may have. “Some of them may not like you much still, but your daughters-in-law have done a remarkable job of clearing your name and that of your sons. Who have all been reembodied, by the way, except Maglor—ah, you’ll call him Makalaure, of course—who my sons had to drag kicking and screaming onto their ship when they sailed, just before the Valar closed the Straight Road.”

“Straight Road?” Feanaro asks, to buy himself more time to sort through his emotions and also because he’s ever been the type of person to want to know everything.

“They way to get to Aman. No one can enter or leave anymore, it’s the humans’ turn to have Arda to themselves without anyone interfering.”

“Did you sail?” Feanaro imagines she must have, he’s not sure why the Valar would reembody someone and leave all the scars. Unless perhaps she wanted to keep them? He isn’t sure.

“I did, quite a long time ago. I was captured and I needed to come to Lorien to find healing.”

“Ah. I am… sorry for asking,” Feanaro says. Surely she doesn’t want to relive such memories.

Celebrian smiles graciously. “Don’t worry about it. It’s been a very long time, and it’s hardly the first time I’ve spoken of it.” She stands then, brushing grass off her skirt, and says, “If you’re ready, we should head for the city.”

“Which city?” Feanaro asks, standing as well and following her down the hill. He hasn’t the slightest idea as to where the Halls of Mandos are actually located, so it could be just about any city in Valinor.

“We’re closest to Valimar, right now,” she says. “I was already visiting with Uncle Finrod there when we found out you were to be reembodied, which is why I volunteered to come get you. We’ll go there and visit with Aunt Lalwende and Aunt Findis, then we’ll go to Tirion, then Formenos, which is where most of your people live.”

“We’ll be traveling for a very long time, then,” Feanaro observes. “Do you intend to go the whole way, or are you going to stop when you reach your own home?”

“Not as long as you think. Lots of things got invented while you were gone, including trains. Trains are a method or transportation significantly faster than walking or riding,” she explains before he can ask. “We’ll take one from Valimar to Tirion, then from Tirion to Formenos, and then I can take one home when I’m ready, though I think Elrond intends for his visit with Maedhros to align with our arrival, so I may stay a while.”

“Elrond?”

“My husband. Your sons raised him.”

“But he is not their child?” Feanaro asks, catching her phrasing.

Celebrian shakes her head. “He’s the great grandson of Turukano, and of Luthien as well, though you won’t know who she is yet.”

“Great grandson… The last I knew, Turukano’s daughter was still only a child. It’s strange to think of her having children of her own.”

Celebrian smiles again, though this time it’s tinged with sadness. “I know what you mean. When I sailed, my daughter wasn’t yet grown, but when my sons arrived, they brought with them a portrait of her family. She married a human, you see, and became mortal herself, so she couldn’t sail. She had children and grandchildren of her own in Middle-earth, and I didn’t even know it until afterward.”

“I’m sorry,” Feanaro says. He hesitates to do anything else. He wants to offer comfort, but he’s known Celebrian for all of half an hour, and he’s not sure it would be welcome.

“Thank you,” she says, then she takes a breath. “Let’s discuss something less grim. Perhaps I could tell you about what your family are up to now?”

“I would like that,” Feanaro says, relieved that he won’t have to attempt to comfort a virtual stranger. Even if he had known her, his social skills are a bit rusty.

“I’ll start with Nerdanel…”


End file.
